


Wasting my Young Years

by Cchambers



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst and Feels, I just really needed to get this out of my head, I wrote this in my head in the shower so don't except a masterpiece, M/M, This is garbage!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:39:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cchambers/pseuds/Cchambers
Summary: "Do you think I'm a terrible person?"Connor.He stood beside the door, hovering, anxious, watching Oliver as if he were about to shatter into pieces, as if Connor would have to pick them up himself. He clutched a fistful of his coat in one of his hands, kept it close to his side. He always clutched onto something, when he was nervous.Oliver wished it was him."Oliver," Connor accidentally rose his voice, bit his tongue as quickly as the name came out of his mouth in a frustrated flutter.Post 4.09Oliver telling Connor, Michaela, and Asher they belong in hell inspired me.





	Wasting my Young Years

"Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Connor.

He stood beside the door, hovering, anxious, watching Oliver as if he were about to shatter into pieces, as if Connor would have to pick them up himself. He clutched a fistful of his coat in one of his hands, kept it close to his side. He always clutched onto something, when he was nervous.

Most of the time, it was Oliver.

"Oliver," Connor accidentally rose his voice, bit his tongue as quickly as the name came out of his mouth in a frustrated flutter.

It was the first time one of them brought up the courage to speak; the Uber ride home was silent, the lethal tranquility and tension before a battle. They sharpened their knives and swords, strapped on their armor, rehearsed their battle cries inside their heads.

The sun was at full view as they turned onto their street, shining in Oliver's eyes. He felt a brief, welcoming warmth on his cheeks- the same warmth he felt when Connor kissed him, when he held his hand.

But Connor was locked off, hidden behind a closed door. The small gap between them was a white line, and he was miles away, in another world, another place. He was trapped inside his head.

"Rough night?" the Uber driver had said, glancing at them through the mirror. He laughed, but it was awkward, fell through in seconds.

"You could say that," Connor muttered. He was still transfixed on the window, absentmindedly watching as they rolled pass the trees and apartment complexes, empty sidewalks. The streetlights began to turn off.

"Sorry for asking," the driver replied, and he returned to his work, and the staticky, broken radio played the news. The hot story of the day was a shooting in an uptown law firm, one of- if not- the city's best.

Oliver fought the urge to be sick, to scream and cry: _I saw it! I saw the shooting with my own two fucking eyes! I was there!_

He was there! He saw Simon's body go limp, saw the pool of blood start to form around his head like a halo- he was already dead, an angel gaining his wings.

He heard Michaela's scream- it electrocuted him, sent a chill down his spine, shook his entire body.

He heard himself cry out, screaming like he was in a nightmare, like he could wake up and it would all go away.

Oliver was awake.

It was morning, but it felt as if it would always be night, that darkness would constantly loom like a hungry animal, nipping at their heels. He would always be there, watching, knowing what was going to happen next. It would be a replay in his head, over and over, a cruel reminder.

Olive was awake.

He was in his apartment, his home. The lights were off, but daylight tried to break in through the curtains, a thin stream of it stretching on the wood floor. Everything was the same, the exact way he left it, but he was completely different.

Oliver was awake.

Connor was looking at him, looking at him the way he always did: puppy brown eyes, wide as saucers, tenderly and passionately, but strained, as if he had to keep it in or it would burst, explode out of him. He looked at him cautiously, one step back.

"Do you think I'm a terrible person?" He said.

"I don't know."

For the first time, it truly hit Oliver, the fact that he didn't know anything. The fact that he was helpless, thrown out of the loop and fed to the wolves. The fact that he was running to catch up, but he kept falling on his face. The fact that he had entered a new world, a world where morals were thrown out the window and blood poured out in shades of grey.

"I don't know, Connor."

"Ollie," He nodded, slowly stepped forward, extending a hand in surrender, like he was approaching a dangerous creature. "I get it, okay?"

"Oh, yes," Oliver couldn't stop himself, he let the flood gates open, he let the dam break, "you do, because this isn't your first murder. Your first body."

Connor's jaw clenched, but he didn't move. He stayed, closing the distance between them, cutting the line with scissors. "You're right," he admitted, "and I can help you. I can help you get through this."

 _Like all the times I helped you_ , Oliver thought.

Connor at his door, sliding to the floor as another spasm of sobs attacked him, hyperventilating, shaking. I screwed up, he breathed out the words like a mantra, a prayer, I screwed up, I screwed up, I screwed up.

Connor the morning after Sinclair, sneaking in as dawn arrived to cry in the shower, desperately scrub Annalise's blood off his hands until his skin was stained red.

Connor, after Wes, melting into him at the hospital and holding on so tightly Oliver thought he'd never let go- he didn't want him to.

"I can see it," Oliver whispered, "I can see why you were like this, after Sam. You know why?"

Connor didn't reply, unnaturally still.

"Because- because all I want to do right now is cry. I want to crawl up, curl into myself, and sob. I want someone to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. I want to fall asleep, and for this to be one sick, horrible dream."

Oliver felt the hot rush of tears running down his cheeks at full speed, like a waterfall, a flood. Connor's face softened even more, and Oliver hastily wiped them.

His voice cracked, slipped into a sob, "It's never going to be okay, is it?"

Connor barely said it, "No."

"Oliver," he pleaded, reaching for his hand. "Please, let me help you." The gap was shut- he could hear Connor breathing, panicked and swift, harsh. He could see Connor's eyes, searching Oliver's, desperate and hollow. "Let us get through this together."

The world has stopped spinning, and now it was frozen. Time ceased to exists, and he lingered in the limbo, caught between two places: the past and the changing present. The law office and the apartment, a world without death and a world where it was the only thing.

He was caught between people: himself, and Connor. Connor, who was worried Oliver thought he was a terrible person when he could never think that.

He was-

He was just Connor. Connor, with his mischievous smirk and his quick remarks, with his soft hands and his sharp tongue, his dagger eyes. He was Connor, who Oliver knew but still couldn't fully understand.

 _Do you think I'm a terrible person?_ He'd asked.

And Oliver almost found himself saying yes.

"Connor."

Oliver pushed him away, reopened the gap, redrew the line.

"Maybe I don't want to get through this together."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me, again! I haven't written in so long so I'm very sorry about all my fics. I keep starting chapters of GG but never finishing them, so that's on me. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! (I think it sucks but that's just my opinion.)


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